A Little More Than Convenient

|Trent Remington|
Me, Keira Knightly, the beach, martinis, mmm...Happiness. The sun is setting, the waves are crashing, Keira’s snoring...
Keira’s snoring? Wait a minute...am I dreaming? Yes, obviously. Why would I be on a beach with Keira Knightly sipping martinis unless this was a dream. Damn. But, seriously, where is this snoring coming from?
I shot up. I wasn’t on the beach, I wasn’t sipping a martini, and I most certainly wasn’t with Keira Knightly. I was at my apartment, in my bedroom, in my bed. Beside my wife. She was asleep, stirring a little, snoring a lot. Why was I in bed with her? Then it all came back to me...
We were at the bar, just talking, and then her ex-boyfriend, what was his name...? Christian? Yeah, that’s right. Well, anyway, he upset her. And so, she started ordering shots of tequila, and dared me to drink them with her. And, so, I did. Ross drove us home, even though he was buzzed. That was a bad move on our part. We were tired, that was the last thing I remember. Damn, I had to pee. Lifting, up the blankets, I started out toward the half-bathroom off of my room, but then I shivered. I was nude, like completely. I didn’t freak out, I just went to the bathroom, and then put on some underwear and a pair of basketball shorts. We were married, right? This was okay, right? Except it wasn’t. Yes, we were married, but not really. It’s not like we loved each other. We only got married out of convenience, we weren’t supposed to do couple things, like...that. Crap.
I had no idea what to do. It was still dark out, 6:25. I was tired, but I knew I couldn’t sleep. I went to the kitchen, took some ibuprofen, and got a cup of coffee. I was hungover, but that wasn’t really was I focusing on at that moment. I turned the TV to the Oprah Winfrey Network. Why? I haven’t got a clue. I began to watch Dr. Phil, when it hit me. I didn’t know if-Ring! The phone rang. I dashed to get it.
“Hello?” I asked, yawning.
“Hi, sweetie,” I heard my mother’s voice.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I asked her. Usually, when she called, she wanted something.
“I got a call from Tara last night. She said that she wants to have Thanksgiving at her house this year.”
“That’s great, but isn’t a little early to begin planning for Thanksgiving?”
“Honey, November first is on Tuesday. We need to start sooner or later. Now, we’re having a potluck, and-”
“What should Carmen and I bring?” I asked, then immediately regretted.
“Uh...Carmen is, um, she’s-”
“Spit it out, hon.”
“She’s my wife. We got married yesterday.”
Mom paused. “Did I hear you correctly?”
“Yes, Mom, I know. We didn’t want to wait through the holiday season to get married.”
“Have you known her long?”
“Um, six months,” I lied.
“Hmm, do you love her?”
“Yes,” I lied again.
“Is she good to you?”
“Yes,” I lied again.
“Well, I guess there’s nothing else to say. When do I get to meet her?”
“I’m not sure. She’s still asleep, she was up late last night...cleaning.”
Mom chuckled. “Not even your wife can take that disgusting apartment.”
“Mom, it’s not disgusting.”
“Cluttered, then. Anyway, I’ll call Tara. Perhaps we should have Thanksgiving at your house, and Carmen can invite her family. I’m sure she can handle cooking.”
“I-”
“Then it’s settled. We’ll hold Thanksgiving at your apartment. I must go make your father an omelet, tell Carmen I said hello.”
“Yes, Mom,” I replied, “I’m sure she’s excited to meet you.”
“Bye, dear.”
“Bye.”
Pressing the end button on the phone, I leaned my head back on the headrest and groaned. Carmen was gonna kill me. Not only had we slept together, but now she was going to have to make a huge Thanksgiving dinner for people she barely knew. Ugh!
“Trent?”
I looked up. My wife was wearing a sheath-like lavender nightgown. It was short for a nightgown; it only went down to her knees. It wasn’t right to think that she looked seriously gorgeous.
“Yes, Carmen?” I asked.
She stared at the floor. “Um, well, see...,” she trailed off.
“Yes?”
“Did we...,” she trailed off again.
I bit my lip. “I...I believe so.”
She closed her eyes and slowly brought her right hand to her forehead. “Damn,” she muttered.
“Carmen-”
I didn’t get to finish, because Carmen broke into one of her rambling episodes. Obviously, this was going to happen a lot. “This is all my fault. I just had to make us go get drunk. I can’t believe I was so freaking stupid! Oh God, I’m sorry, Trent, I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess my mom was actually right when she said that alcohol only makes things worse. Not only do I have a killer hangover, but I just slept with my husband!”
I stifled a laugh to no avail; it exploded through my nose. Then I burst out laughing. Carmen glared at me. “What’s so freaking funny?”
I shrugged and took a deep breath, in an attempt to stop laughing. “Do you not realize how hilariously ridiculous that sounded?”
She placed her hands primly on her hips. “So...?”
“So, you said, ‘I just slept with my husband.’ We’re newlyweds, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that we’re sleeping together.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha very funny.” She sighed, “Please tell me that there’s some coffee.”
I nodded. “There’s a whole pot. And the aspirin’s in the cabinet above the coffeepot.”
She stalked into the kitchen. I watched as she daintily and languidly ambled in the kitchen, and then came back and sat down beside me. “The OWN network?”
I shrugged. “There’s nothing on.”
She snorted. “Give me the remote. I obeyed. She tuned it to channel 300; Nickelodeon. Well, actually, at this hour, it was Nick at Nite.
“The Nanny?” I asked offhandedly.
“You did say there was nothing on. Well, I like Nick at Nite. By the way, we’re watching Fools Rush In later.”
“Fools Rush In?”
“Yes, that’s my all time favorite movie.”
“Do you not own it? Because you didn’t mention it the other day at your apartment.”
“Yes, well, I forgot about it.”
“Okay,” I said, shaking my head. “well, I noticed that you know the hangover remedy.”
She grinned. “Yeah. I didn’t get drunk much in high school, but my little sister sure did. We always used that remedy. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t that smart. Lizzie, my sister, and I didn’t even like coffee. That’s how my mom knew we’d gotten drunk.”
“Did you get in huge trouble?” I asked.
“Once, the first time, because we did it before our parents got up. We were grounded for over a month! After that, we’d set our alarm clocks for like, six am.”
I laughed. “Were you or Lizzie more wild?”
She snorted. “Definitely Liz.”
“You were a goody two shoes, eh?”
“No!” she snapped, “I just didn’t, still don’t like being disoriented.”
I laughed again. “Goody two shoes!”
“No, I wasn’t!” she snapped.
“Yes, you were!”
“No, I was-”
“Fine!” I interrupted, “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
She snorted. “Like I’m telling you that!”
“Goody two shoes!”
She shrugged her shoulders. “You tell me how old you were, then.”
“Okay,” I agreed, “I was sixteen. Homecoming night. Natalie Britten.”
She sniffed. “Fine, I was...eighteen. Graduation night. Max Thayer.”
“Hmm, maybe you’re not a goody two shoes.”
“Right! Carmen Remington is not, I repeat, is not a goody two shoes!”